


Horse Shit

by Jonathan_D_Allard



Series: The dark side of Camelot [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is a prick, Child Abuse, Drinking, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rape, Sex Work, Sexual Content, Underage Rape/Non-con, power abuse, that can't deal with lonlyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24615499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonathan_D_Allard/pseuds/Jonathan_D_Allard
Summary: Arthur is a mean drunk that takes his misery out on Mordred. Mordred lets him in fear of making Emrys mistrust become another murder attempt on his life. Mordred gets put in a tight spot, forced to think back to the life before he came to Camelot. Beeing an orphans with no one to look after you is hard.
Relationships: Mordred/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The dark side of Camelot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779601
Kudos: 7





	Horse Shit

Mordred was tired and frustrated. Merlin still treated him like horse shit. Something to be scrubbed of one's boot and nothing more. Mordred does not understand his reluctance to just give him a chance, he did not demand unconditional trust, only that Emrys would give him a chance to show that he could be of help. He might me horse shit in Emrys eyes, but even horses' shit can be used to create a new life and help something bloom.

Tonight though, Mordred would forget the hurt Merlin kept making him feel. Tonight, he would follow Gawain and Percy to the tavern for a drink, a drunken story, and some dancing before passing out blissfully drunk in his own bed.

Fate had other plans for him and as we all know and for the young druid to find out, Fate, yes well, she can be a cruel bitch sometimes. She let him have his drink, his laugh of Gawain's story, his singing and dancing with one of the tavern girls. They always seemed to like Mordred, maybe because he was the only one paying for their company and not just to take them to bed. And if he paid them for the night, nothing would happen. He only paid for the comfort of simple touch and the feeling of not being alone in the dark. For them to hold in their arms like a mother might hold a child, rather than how a woman holds a lover.

Fate took it in her hands to put Arthur in the way of Mordred last want.

The King had joined them after Mordred had had his singing and dancing. The mood had drastically changed when there superior had joined them. Where it had been light and airy, it became tense. Arthur drank like a man not wanting to greet the next day. Scrawling whenever the other knights laughed a little too loud or smiled a little too bright. Too far away in his misery to be happy for the others. Both Gawain and Percy found someone else to entertain their night. No tavern girls, but maiden free of charge. What an illusion, you always pay for affection and company. One way or another.

Mordred preferred to pay in coin, that way there is no expectation afterward, no mattered lines between love, lust, or the pleasure of the flesh. It was nothing else than a transaction.

Arthur did not speak much; he never did these days. It had become common knowledge that the king spends his nights alone and drunk. With foul mood swings that sent the servers running and the Knights bruised and battered from the training sessions.

"You seem… at easy here." Mordred turned quickly to make sure he heard the word spoken was indeed the King’s.

"It's it so hard to think I feel home here?"

"Yes, who could find peace in this noise?"

"To me, it's comforting. It feels like home" Mordred took another sip of his ale. "If you don't fancy the scenery then why come at all?"

"Merlin." Mordred just continues to stare for an explanation. It took Arthur a moment to understand what he wanted. But then he does indeed explain: "That ratchet servant made sure to conspire with the wine master, cook and all the other Servants that I can only have watered-down wine. If a King can't even get a real drink in his own castle what has the world fallen to?" he grew sourer before emptying the cup and yells for more.

"I used to live in a place like this, after I was hunted and chased away from my people." Mordred half-drunken mind wants to share this with his friend and King. He wants to change Camelot, the only way he can do it is by changing the minds and educate the people with the power to make a change.

"What do you mean?"

"As a kid, after Uther's men came after the camp, I lived in. Not many will take in a strange and orphaned kid. After some hard years on the road, a madam took me in out of pity."

"You lived in a Tavern?"

"More like a brothel." Mordred admitted grimacing behind his cup. Arthur turned to look at Mordred, seeing the youngest of his knights in a whole new light.

They sit in silence for a time. Mordred finishes his drink and gets up to leave. He has already taken two steps before something occurs to him. Maybe leaving the King is not a good idea. Merlin would kill him if he knew, Mordred left Arthur to his own devices. It seemed the almighty Emrys would know everything in the castle before the sun had even risen in the horizon, so the druid turned back with a smile.

"You're coming, sire?"

"No," Arthur says, but gets up anyhow. The walk to the castle is long with both of their legs threatening to bugger under them when walking up the steeper street.

They both laugh when one of the palace guards has to help Arthur up the first few steps in the courtyard.

It takes them forever to reach the King's chambers and when they do, they are less drunk.

That does not stop Arthur from needing help with getting out of his clothing. Mordred now understands why Merlin sometimes is prickly. If Mordred had to cater to the big man child, like a hen to chicks he would become prickly, too. Mordred simply does not understand how Arthur never learned to dress or undress. Mordred had dressed by himself for longer then he could remember. Even if he did not understand the need for help, he still offered his King help, when his clumsy fingers kept losing its grip on the shirt laces.

Arthur blindly stared at the fingers of the younger man before him. How his face was scrunched in concentration.

The sparse light Arthur saw something he never had before. The closeness between them and the soft firelight made something families of Mordred's features.

Arthur wondered if Mordred's hair would feel as soft as hers and if his lips would fast as sweet? Maybe he should find out. He leaned in and stole a kiss.

It had been brief and soft, but had sent Arthur's nerves tingling. Better than the kiss Morgana had given him in their years as foolish children.

Mordred stood stiff as a board.

"Sire?!" his voice higher, Arthur recognized it as fear. But he didn't care, he wanted sweet kisses and soft touches to mend what all the poisonous words that had come between him and Gwen had done.

He needed someone to take that hurt of an unborn child away, to lessen his old loves that never turned out.

Arthur kissed him again. This time the boy pushed him away, for at that moment Mordred was a scared boy frozen in fear, wanting nothing more than to run away.

"Arthur stop it, your Queen wouldn't want you to do this." his voice holds a hint of panic, even if he tries to hide it under calm and reusable.

"Oh, the contrary, she told me to find another place to stick my cock, just a few evenings ago."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it." Mordred tries to step back, away from the man before him. He does not reach far before Arthur had a hand clasp on his shoulder, preventing him to get any further.

"Oh, but she did." Arthur was about to kiss the boy again.

"Stop it!" Mordred blew up, but not stepping further away from Arthur. Eyes glinting with anger. On how he looks like Morgana, the fire in his eyes, that is a good look on him. Not that the boyish airlessness was not attractive on his features, but the fiery eyes made him seem older. It made Arthur laugh that he had not seen it before.

"Why should I stop, Mordred? I am your king and you took an oath to obey me."

"What?!" Mordred screeched.

"I want you." Arthur chuckled drunkenly as he stepped closer to the young man.

"No" Mordred voice was firm this time.

"Take off your clothes," Arthur said as he moved in and placed a wet kiss on his chin, moving on to nibbling on the ear half-hidden in the dark locks.

"Don't do this." Mordred pleaded; it helps nothing. The gleam in the king's eyes was something he had seen in a lot of men.

If you denied them, they were not above to take it from you by force. Some that had shared the king’s gleam, had even enjoyed it when he had tried to fight them.

Mordred gave up the fight and pulled his shirt roughly over his head, tossing it at the floor. A smile spread over Arthur's lips.

"Good, now help me out of these clothes" Mordred finished unlacing the shirt Arthur was wearing, helping him out of both the shirt and the underlying tunic. Until there were nothing left between the air and the King's skin.

Arthur took one of Mordred's hands putting it on his belt, making it clear what he wanted the druid to do next. As the younger man worked on his belt Arthur couldn't help, but kiss him again.

Mordred felt the pressure on his shoulder grow and understood what the king wished for him to do, so the druid sank to his knees on the stone floor as he pulled Arthurs trousers and underpants down.

Even if it had been a while since Mordred had seen a hard prick this closeup, he hadn't forgotten how to handle it: How to put it in his mouth, without letting his teeth scrape the sensitive skin.

What did come to him as a shock was how quickly he felt the salty fluid in his mouth and down his throat.

Arthur had been moaning and grinding his hand in the dark hair. Both men were panting for air. When Mordred had gotten enough air, he pulled the rest of the trousers, underpants, and boots of his king. Mordred rose and went to get his shirt; glad it being over this fast.

Fate wanted it different though, because she like Time and Karma is a cruel mistress.

"What are you doing?" Mordred thought Arthur must be stupid it couldn't see what was going on.

"You got what you wanted, sire. I'm leaving." Mordred didn't bother taken the shirt on; he could do that in the safety of the dark hall.

"We are not done yet. Take everything else off and get on the bed, boy" the king said with a voice lacking any kind of passion. It was a command like another. Arthur was used to commanding people around as if they were nothing more than pieces on aboard. Mordred complied, angrily stepping out of the last of his clothing and walking to the bed. He obeyed his king without complaint. He knew it would be futile to fight. If he fought with his fists, Arthur would take him in a fistfight. Even if he managed to get away it would leave bruises and if Emrys found out his precious King had been hurt, he would with any doubt kill him. This time he does not hesitate to follow through. Besides, where else would he go, if he escaped the wrath of Merlin and the law of Camelot? He had stuck a knife in Morgan as back, all for Arthur. And he refused to go back to being a whore.

Instead of thinking, he sits on the bed, slowly but steady, his heart is racing, stomach-turning. Knowing what will happen is not the same as wanting it to. Mordred feels lost and more alone than ever before. Because he trusted Arthur, he trusted Emry's opinion of the man before him. 

"Lie on your back," The King says with a hint of want in his voice.

"No, if your gonna treat me like a whore, you don't get to take as a lover."

"Fine with me either way" Mordred lies down on his stomach and mentally prepares himself for the spit slicked fingers that will wonder where he does not want them to.

First, he feels the madras shift underneath him. He tenses but forces his body to relax. Arthur's hands run down his back, in the way Mordred would have preferred it if he had shared a bed willingly. Arthur gropes his ass and smacks his left cheek. It stings a bit, but Mordred had had worse.

Suddenly the hands are on his hips and he is manhandled up on his knees, the sudden movement forces him to take a deep breath, to still his shaking hands and fast-beating heart.

What he feels is not slick fingers but the bluntness of the nearly dry cock. Clumsily trying to line itself up.

"Wait!" He's desperate for it not to hurt worse than it always dos when taken with no preparation, de is desperate for it not to bleed. He lies half twisted, a hand on Arthur's stomach as if it were enough to hold him back.

"What now?" Arthur is frustrated and starting to grow impatient.

"I'm not a girl."

"I'm aware" Arthur roles his eyes.

"What I mean is you can't just stick your cock inside me, you have to make sure your prick is slick."

"A whore shouldn't care if it's a bit rough."

"A whore gets paid, besides I'm not a whore... Anymore " the last word is whisper into the pillow as he gets into his previous position. Mordred is not ashamed that he did everything he could to survive without his magic being found out.

"Fair enough." Mordred feels both the king's hand spread his cheeks and hears him spit before he feels the warm substance on his rear. Mordred turns to look at the King over his shoulder. And at that moment, he knows he cannot go through with this. Mordred knows the second Arthur tries to mount him he will fight and then he is back to Emrys killing him for maiming the king. Even if Mordred was not ashamed to be paid as a whore, he no longer was one, even as a whore he had a choice in what clients he took. This had been his choice. Right now, his mind was that of the scared child the world took advantage of before he had ended in the whorehouse, not the teen that worked a game to survive.

"Get the belt."

"Why?" Arthur is transported out of his present, pulled from rubbing the head of his prick back and forth in the saliva over the pucker of Mordred entrance, he looks utterly confused.

"Tie me up." Mordred looked away again, so he cannot see Arthur's reaction to his words.

The King gets the discarded belt from the floor and ties Mordred securely to the bedpost.

Arthur gets back into position and spits another time for good measure before he sinks into the body beneath him with a moan.

Mordred groans, it hurts worse than he remembers. He pulls at his restrained, having something to hold onto helps. It was the only thing that got him through how the different men would visit him in the bedroll on the road. The robe that bound him to the cart was the only thing that kept him grounded, sometimes he would be difficult just so they would tie him up. So they couldn't pretend, for him to take it like a good boy and like it.

He tries to scoot away from the burning sensation. He is not ready for the first trust when it comes. It takes his breath away with a high-pitched sound. He bites his teeth expecting the next trust to be harder and faster, but it is not. What it is though, is shallower accompanied with hands roaming his back and arms, with lips leaving wet kisses and bite marks behind. The softness is somehow worse than the pain. So, he makes a decision.

"I'm not your wife or your mistress, fuck me like mean it" the fake boldness works and Arthur fucks him like he drinks these days, like there is no tomorrow.

The burning sensation lessens, it doesn't hurt as bad, but it isn't present either. It just is, and Mordred takes it as long the still intoxicated King can go. With the edge taken care of, from before. Arthur goes at him longer than Mordred is comfortable with. When the King is finely spending himself into the druid, Mordred sore legs are glad they are done. Arthur pants into the back of his neck run a hand in Mordred's hair as he kisses the skin beneath his hairline, then he reaches out with only one hand, loosening the belt. Setting him free before falling asleep on top of the druid, still buried inside of him.

Mordred feels dirty and hallow, not even trying to move out under the sleeping King.

That is how Merlin finds them in the morning, Mordred staring out into empty space, with Arthur still asleep beside him snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Shock and horror are painted om Emrys face, but Mordred does not care. He gets up, finds his clothing. He does not particularly care if Emrys sees the bite marks, the bruised wrists, the slickness running down his thighs and dark finger makes he knows will be on his hips.

Mordred gets dressed and leaves in silence. When he is alone and away from Merlin's judging eyes, he cries the tears he promised himself he would never cry again. Mordred feels like, there is no better way to describe it, like horse shit.


End file.
